


Tiptoes

by Gut



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon
Genre: Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gut/pseuds/Gut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A clan of throh take in an injured sawk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was disappointed in the lack of fanfiction for sawk and throh, because they're precious babies!! So here I am remedying that. This fic'll contain a lot of cultural speculations, ideas on what being a wild pokemon is like, and the sort of impacts humans have on them. Hope you like it!!

[ ](http://gut-jar.tumblr.com/post/112737092566/heres-the-characters-for-that-fic-im-writing)

_“All throh and sawk registered by the league are listed as field collected. Multiple attempts have been made to breed these two species, but so far none have shown success, largely attributed to a misunderstanding of their social and reproductive biology; their unique social bonds are currently believed to be irreplicable in captivity._

_When it comes to training one of these two pokemon, it is strongly advised that trainers collect a young specimen, ideally a yearling or younger. Hatchling sawk and throh are more likely to acclimate to captivity than older specimens. They are therefore easier to train, more eager to learn, and more obedient. When field collecting a young throh be sure to keep an eye out for groups, as yearlings are rarely seen without the company of their clan.”_

\- **The Fighting Trainer’s Manual, Beginner’s Edition**

 

•     •  •  •  •  • • • •• ••• •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• ••• •• • • • •  •  •  •    •

 

In the human world of League battles, throh have a reputation for being nasty, devastating opponents. They are at once notoriously powerful in combat and exceedingly difficult to train, requiring vast amounts of space and constant physical activity. By nature, however, throh are very sociable, curious creatures. Their favorite pastime is throwing very large objects. Boulders, trees, pokemon- they seek out anything large and heavy and compete with one another in launching them over vast distances. Their desire for competition is perhaps the original reason they formed clans.

A typical clan is made up of five members or more. Age, gender, experience- these factors mean very little in the decision to form a clan. Rather they fall into it naturally, the same way friend groups fall into each other, out of mutual reliance and respect. They take care of its members, gathering food and offering protection, seeking shelter and tending to the sick. A throh’s first job is to care for their clan. Throwing things comes second.

Their physically exerting lifestyles call for vast amounts of fuel. Clans are therefore nomadic by nature, wandering back and forth through large territories in search of food. They are primarily herbivores, feasting on stalks and berries, but protein in the form of fish and insects is always appreciated.

All in all, throh are a largely misunderstood species. Their desire for exercise is often mistaken for aggression, but their dependance on social groups can not be understated.

\------

 

Naming wasn’t something pokemon typically did- for most it was “him” or “her”, “them” or “us”. This was largely due to language constraints. This was the same for the throh in the valley, but since it made distinguishing members of the clan difficult, they would often fall into adjectives; one-word descriptions of each other serving as identifiers.

‘Lefty’ was left-handed, but on any given day she could also be ‘Fisher’ or ‘Curious’ or ‘Shy.’ Her appearance was standard as far as throhs went, perhaps a bit skinny, and her interest in water was a little strange. At least it meant they always had fish to eat. On this sunny morning she was waist-deep in a large, slow river, holding a rock high above her head and squinting into the water below. Large fish circled lazily near the bottom, and with practiced aim she stunned one. “Ha!”

Lefty threw the fish over her shoulder and on to land. On the shore her friend was taking a sun nap, jerking awake only when the fish slapped the ground by his head. He was large for a throh, and with scraped knuckles and a lumpy face that suggested a life full of fighting. He had a scratch on his head that crossed his brow, and on most days this was his alias- ‘Scratch.’

By the way he was acting this morning, through, ‘Lazy’ might have been more apt. He pulled himself up and frowned dramatically at the fish, but it was playful, without real malice. “A _magikarp_? Really? They’re just bones and scales.”

“Give me a minute.” Lefty bent down and picked up another huge rock. What would take two human strongmen to lift was held easily in one palm while she scratched her nose. “I’m hoping for a nice fat seaking for breakfast.”

“They already migrated a season ago.”

“There could be stragglers...” Lefty squinted at the water, paused, then threw the rock down with titanic force. A fish shot buoyantly to the surface. “A stunfisk! Close enough.” This fish was thrown next to the magikarp on the shore.

It was a bright, temperate morning in the valley that the pokemon had always lived in but had never named. It consisted of hundreds of miles of scrubland and canyons cut through by a single zig-zagging river, with a lake somewhere towards the middle and a crown of jagged mountains surrounding it all. Rain was a scarcity most of the year, and food had to be earned with tooth and claw. Competition was consistent. Life here was not easy.

“You call that a throw? I’ve seen bibarel stronger than that!”

But life still persisted.

“That was a warm-up. Stand back woman, this one’s gonna be a 6.0!”

A throh ran boldly towards a massive boulder that was nearly his size. He slammed into it and wrapped it in an embrace, spun his body, and lobbed it as hard as he could. It sailed a good 20 meters, began to fall, and crashed an inch ahead of another boulder. The ground trembled with the impact.

He cackled and gestured wildly to his companion. “You see that? You see? I can top anything you throw, guaranteed!”

He was a bit on the short side, as far as throhs go, but muscular and squat; a real roadblock of a pokemon. He had bruises around his eyes and was missing several teeth. They sometimes called him ‘Short’ or ‘Loud’ or ‘Angry’, but mostly they called him ‘Jaw’, after a time where he was dared to break a rock with his mouth… and instantly regretted it.

His companion growled and heaved another boulder over her head, bracing her legs against the ground as she swung it with the force of a catapult. She was big, with a broad but well-natured face. They called her ‘Thump’, due to a long-lasting joke involving her dropping a rock on her own head with a THUMP!

“25 meters at least!” Thump shouted. The rock spun with its trajectory, clipped the top of Jaw’s rock, and hit the ground in a spray of sand and pebbles.

Thump snickered as Jaw rolled up his sleeves, muttering. “That was just a warm up. This is my real throw, I swear. Don’t hurt yourself trying to outdo this one.” He heaved and picked up another boulder, prepared to throw it- but was stopped by the sight of a very small throh eagerly dragging a stone towards them in the sand.

“My turn!” The barely-2-foot-tall throh said. Its tiny belt dragged in the sand at its feet. It was just a baby, probably no older than a year.  

“Ooohhh,” Thump said in exaggerated amazement. “That’s an awfully big rock, Small...”

Jaw carefully set down his boulder. “Yeah Small, you must be pretty strong.”

“Yeah!” Small said, sticking his tongue out in concentration. For a long time they called him ‘Egg’, but when he hatched they realised it no longer worked, so they called him ‘Smallest Throh’ instead- ‘Small’ for brevity.

Small lifted the grapefruit-sized rock above his head, grunted, and threw. It made an impressive three meters before hitting the ground with a solid thunk. Thump and Jaw’s boulders sat unmoving in the distance. Small stared at them.

“Whoa!” Thump said, hoisting Small onto her shoulder. “That was an impressive toss, Small! Right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaw said, patting his head. “You’re gonna master Seismic Toss in no time, Small!”

Two more throh climbed up from the river to join them. They were each holding a fish over their shoulder. They waved. “Who won this round?” Scratch asked.

Jaw and Thump glanced at each other. “I think Small won.”

Scratch beamed. “Really? Wow! A toss like that deserves a fish breakfast.”  
Small eagerly scrambled down from Thump’s’ shoulder as the throhs formed a circle to eat. Scratch, Lefty, Jaw, Thump, and Small- they weren’t the largest clan in the valley but they had enough to get by. Small sat in Scratch’s lap as he took to peeling the scales off the magikarp. It was incredibly difficult, even for them- their scales were like overlapping metal spoons, and just as easy to bend free. Small picked up a scale off the ground. “Is it a Magikarp?” he asked.

Lefty smiled. “You’re right!” She wiggled the head free from the rest of the stunfisk’s body and took to scraping out the nasty inner bits. Jaw grabbed the detached head and shoved it in his mouth, grinning at Small through a mouthful of dead fish and making the young throh squeal with laughter.

Throh had not learned the trick to making fire, and so all meals were served raw. They were surprisingly fastidious, carefully peeling bones from the slices of fish and eating in small pieces. Breakfast was a chance for the clan to enjoy something together. It was almost therapeutic.

When they had finished, Jaw picked his teeth with a fishbone and said “I was thinkin’ we oughta visit the lake before the dry season hits. Once the lake goes it’ll be months before we see it again.”

Throh clans didn’t have leaders, since most members had similar goals and ideas anyway. Any discrepancies were met with a quick competition. Various feats of strength were the most popular way to settle a dispute. Throwing large objects was usually involved.

Lefty nodded. “Yeah, when’s the last time we’ve been down to the lake? I bet the other clans’ll have the same idea. And its so hot, I’d kill for a swim!”

“And food,” Thump said, shoving Lefty jokingly. “The place is crawling with delicious wurmples! And remember those leichi berries that one clan brought with them? That was a crazy night!”

“My head is still pounding,” Jaw said wistfully.

Small crawled off Scratch’s lap to explore while the adults discussed their options. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Scratch said finally. Scratch tended to be the final authority in matters, as he was a perceptive and respectable throh, and because no one could throw a rock further than him. “Its probably only a few days away. Has Small even seen it yet?”

“Not since he was an egg.”

“I don’t think he ‘saw’ anything when he was an egg, Jaw.”

“He’d probably make friends there too.” Lefty carefully stacked the magikarp scales, forming a little tower. “Bet some of the other clans have kiddos running around.”

Jaw blew the tower over and cackled as she tried to smack him. A peculiar behavior among throh clans was that all members were equally responsible for child rearing. Who would mother and father an egg was decided entirely by convenience, as even the concept of romance was foreign to them. In the clan, everything was platonic, and everything was shared.

It was more or less decided that they’d head for the lake- they were travelers by heart, and picking a destination was the only real battle. “If we leave by noon we should reach the forests by nightfall,” Scratch said, getting up to stretch. Small came waddling over from the far side of the clearing. “Been seeing some cacturne around lately- wouldn’t hurt to have some cover when they wake up at night.”

“I can take em,” Jaw said, proudly flexing a beefy arm.

Thump snorted. “Oh please, you’re so short they’d mistake you for a geodude.”

“Hey!”

In the midst of their bickering the clan failed to notice Small’s return. He was sucking on his hand and anxiously staring. Scratch looked down at him. “What’s wrong, Smallest Throh?”

Small pointed behind him. “There’s a blue throh over there.”

Jaw frowned and looked where he was pointing. “There’s no sawk around these parts, Small....”

“I think she’s dead.” Small said.

 _This_ got their attention. Thump quickly rose and looked across the clearing, alert. There was no sound but that of insects and the stream. Scratch looked behind them and across the water, scoping for threats but seeing none.

“...Show me the blue throh,” Scratch finally said.

Small led the group across the clearing, past his rock and the two rocks Jaw and Thump had thrown. There was a passage between the cliffs, lined with shrub grass. Scratch pushed the grass aside. At the very back of the passage he saw a blue foot- everything else was shadow.

“Stay here,” Scratch said, grim.

Cautiously he entered the passage. There was little room to maneuver, and a bed of jagged rocks made each step a leap of faith, but the figure was lying only a few meters away. Eventually he was able to grab its foot, and he backed out of the passage and into the clearing dangling it by its leg.

Immediately the throh gathered around to inspect it. It was indeed a sawk, and it was indeed a ‘she’- they knew this in the innate way only throhs and sawks knew each other’s genders. She was still but not dead. Her head was bleeding, and her body was lined with numerous scratches and bruises. Thump reached out and lifted her by the neck of her gi.

“Shes uh, pretty banged up,” Thump said, giving her a little shake. She was entirely limp. “What should we do with her?”

“Huddle,” Scratch said.

The throh quickly formed a close circle, the sawk set temporarily aside, and discussed their options.

 

\------

 

They took her back to the small cave they had used for shelter the night before. They cleaned her injured head at the river, and applied pulped oran berries as a salve. Lefty wanted to tend to her other injuries but the clan was stuck on whether or not it would be rude to take someone’s clothes off while they were unconscious.

“I mean, its for her own health,” Lefty said nervously. The sawk was lying on the dirt floor of the cave, unmoving save for the occasional shallow breath. The throh stood around her in a wide circle, both concerned and uneasy in the presence of a species they didn’t usually get along with.

“I wouldn’t want to wake up naked with a bunch of strangers.” Thump said.

Lefty gingerly lifted one corner of her gi, revealing another scratch. “Maybe its okay if its just for a minute? Just to make sure she’s not seriously hurt.”

Thump disagreed, and this led to a ten minute discussion on what would be the proper etiquette involving unconscious pokemon. In the end they decided that it would be rude to strip someone without asking, but it would sometimes be acceptable if it was for a funny joke and you knew the other pokemon would laugh. Since they didn’t know the sawk they assumed she wouldn’t laugh, but for the sake of her health they would take a quick look, just to be sure she was ok.

Lefty undid the sawk’s belt and quickly pulled aside her gi. Sure enough, she had a devastating bruise on her inner right arm, stretching as far as her shoulders and ribs. Lefty applied some oran berry pulp, unsure of what else to do, and started closing the sawk’s gi. Before she could finish, through, a small blue object fell from the lining of the garment and onto the sawk’s stomach. Lefty picked it up and held it in her palm. It was a small triangle, slightly bumpy and dark blue. Some sort of stone, perhaps? But as it was none of their business, Lefty quickly put it back, and closed her gi.

“I don’t think she’s going to be able to use that arm for a while.”

Scratch nodded, turning for the exit. “I’ll make a sling.”

Small was watching curiously, and Thump bent down to pick him up. “She’ll probably be hungry when she wakes up. C’mon Smallest Throh, lets see if we can find her a snack, ok?”

“Ok.” Small said, sucking his thumb.

Jaw sat crosslegged at the entrance to the cave, stoic. “I’ll stand watch.”

“Why?” Lefty asked.

“Whatever caused those injuries might still be around,” he said, squinting suspiciously at the sky. The sun was in the center. “Can’t let it show up when our backs are turned, ya know.”

 

\------

 

That evening, while the throh sat outside the cave eating a berry dinner by sunset, the sawk came to.

First, she moved her toes. Then she shifted her feet, her ankles, her legs. Had to be sure they worked, so she could get up and run. Rough voices echoed in from outside the cave. She moved her arms slightly, making sure she wasn’t bound. Her heart was pounding, her own breath painfully loud in her ears. The sawk took a deep breath, counted to three, and pushed herself up.

The pain was immense. She bit her tongue to hold back a shout, began to shake. She leaned back on her left elbow and held her right arm close, trying to steady her breathing as the pain gradually lessened. Eventually she had to resume lying on her back, head swimming, every cut and bruise throbbing. Shakily she reached into her gi and found the small blue object she kept inside. She rubbed it gently.

After a minute of rest it was time to escape. Slowly the sawk pulled herself up, tensing at the pain that radiated from her bruises. She glanced over at the entrance to the cave and saw four figures sitting cross-legged in the fading light. They were talking amongst themselves, and didn’t notice her first unsteady steps. She inhaled slowly, adjusted her weight towards her toes. Exhaled. Then she crept for the exit, towards the smell of fresh air and the reverb of voices. They were closer now, their backs to her, distracted by their conversation and their dinner. A few more steps. She was just barely out. Then the big one, the one with the scar on his head, noticed her.

“You’re awake--”

She bolted past, but her body had no where near recovered. In her haste she skidded and slipped, fell hard on her bruised side. She wheezed and curled in on herself, muscles screaming, cuts beginning to bleed all over again, weak and vulnerable in the dirt. The figures surrounding her were all shouting at once, and through her tears she could just now register their brick-red skin and pale gi’s. _Throhs._ She didn’t know what they wanted with her, or how she’d even gotten here. _Is this finally it?_ She closed her eyes and let her head fall. Defeat.

 _It does not matter_ , she thought, and their voices faded in her ears. _Nothing matters anymore._

 

 


	2. PART 2

_“A survey of unovan species completed in year 146 was the first to suggest that throh and sawk are entirely male species. This conclusion was met in part due to their similarities to hitmonchan and hitmonlee, whose fascinating symbiotic relationship with ditto has been the subject of thorough study. However, no ditto are believed to be present in unova, and there has been no discovery of a pokemon that fulfils a similar role._

_In fact, recent studies of field-collected specimens suggest that male and female throh and sawk may exist in equal numbers. Evidence strongly suggests that while all throh and sawk appear masculine to us, they may possess sexual dimorphism that is only readily obvious to others of their own species- meaning that females, while unidentifiable at a glance, may very well exist.”_

**-** **The Fighting Trainer’s Manual, Beginner’s Edition**

 

•     •  •  •  •  • • • •• ••• •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• ••• •• • • • •  •  •  •    •

 

Morning in the valley was a time of rare calm. Pidoves tittered happily in the treetops while sandiles basked in the sun’s rays. The river was once again full of water types hoping to catch a meal before retreating to the depths at midday. Nearly the end of spring, and soon this diversity of life would struggle under the dominating heat of the dry season.

The magikarp too were happy for the water and the sun and the other gifts that came with the wet season, and were all too unprepared for the sensation of having a 200-pound-rock fall on them from above.

“Fish again?” Smallest Throh asked, sitting on the shore with his feet in the water.

Lefty waded out into the stream and collected the magikarp. “I thought you liked fish.”

He scrunched his nose dramatically. “Not every day!”

“We’d be eating caterpie right now if it wasn’t for the delay,” Jaw said, sitting beside him on the shore with his chin in his hand. He looked bored.

Lefty stepped onto shore and collected the other magikarp she’d caught previously. They were far from an ideal catch, but with most water types migrating to avoid the coming heat, she would be happy with whatever she could get. “Tomorrow we’ll have fruit for breakfast. Sometimes things come up and you have to put your wants aside to help others, Small.”

Small trotted alongside her as they made their way back to the cave. “Like helping Blue Throh?”

Jaw chuckled. “They’re called _sawks_ , Small.”

Outside the cave Scratch and Thump were basking in the sun, waiting for their return. Lefty stood over them and waved the fish. “Breakfast, lazy bones.” She glanced around. “Hey, where’s the sawk at?”

Thump took one of the magikarps and inspected it. “Take a guess,” she said, dryly.

Lefty left the fish with the clan and ducked into the cave. It only went back about 20 feet, and in the little allotted light she could see the sawk, sitting with her back to the entrance and close to the wall. She approached her slowly, but was careful not to creep, so her presence would not be unannounced. “Hello Skinny,” she said.

The sawk gave her a sidelong glance but didn’t move.

“We have breakfast,” she continued. “Its magikarp. Not great but it’ll fill your stomach.”

“I am not hungry,” said the sawk. She spoke very precisely, like words had fallen out of use for her, but with a deep voice that was just on the edge of intimidating.

Lefty stepped a bit closer. The previous evening had been nerve-wracking for both the sawk and the clan; it had taken a great deal of explaining to convince her that they were trying to help, and even more to get her to stay with them the night. Lefty got the distinct impression that she was just looking for the first available opportunity to leave. This would most likely be fatal. Anyone could see that the sawk was unfit to provide for herself in her current state. She was going to need weeks of assistance.

“I don’t mean to be rude but… I don’t believe you.” Lefty said. “You know we don’t want anything in return. We have just enough food for six.”

The sawk looked up at that. “I thought there were four of you.”

Lefty scratched her neck. “Well, Smallest Throh hid when he saw all the commotion. He’s not used to these things. He’s barely a year old.”

To her surprise the sawk slowly got up. She fixed Lefty with a brief stare, then looked away. “I will eat,” she said, awkwardly.

Outside of the cave Scratch had just managed to scale one magikarp and was getting to work on the second. Jaw was sticking scales in the gaps where his missing teeth used to be, and Small was in hysterics at the sight.

“Those aren’t your real teeth!” Small laughed.

“Yes they are,” Thump gasped, holding him in her lap. “He had an accident, and now he’s a hideous freak!”

“I’m half-throh, half-bidoof,” Jaw said, the protruding scales giving him a prominent lisp.

The antics stopped when they saw Lefty leave the cave, accompanied by the sawk. The blue pokemon was wearing the sling Scratch had made, and although she walked normally the throh could see the pain she was trying to hide in her eyes.

Lefty sat down by the clan, and gestured for the sawk to join them. She did, albeit hesitantly, and froze when she saw the tiny throh sitting in Thump’s lap.

“Hello Tiptoes,” Scratch said cautiously. “You hungry?”

The sawk watched the baby for a few seconds, then glanced up. “Yes.”

Scratch set the entire raw fish in front of her. There was a pause. The sawk looked at them, back down at the fish, then slowly reached over with her good hand and pulled off a sizeable piece. She ate it like she had been starved. The throh thought it would be rude to take food away from someone who was eating, so they let her have it, even when she ripped off a much larger chunk and forced it down, bones and all. The clan helped themselves to the remaining fish, and the sawk stopped when she realized she’d eaten over half of hers.

“’Sorry.” She said brusquely.

Scratch shook his head. “Its ok, Tiptoes. You looked like you needed it.”

The throh ate in uncharacteristic silence. Small babbled to himself in the way young children usually do, getting fish all over his face that Thump wiped away with her sleeve. “You gotta be more careful, Smallest Throh,” she said.

The sawk had been observing silently. “Why do you do that?”

The entire clan paused. “Do _what_?” Jaw asked, a little accusatory.

She stared him down. “You have names for each other. I thought that was a thing only humans do with their pokemon.”

Scratch nodded, licking fish off his fingers. “We don’t really have names the same way they do,” he explained. “We just have… descriptions. So we can tell each other apart. Sawks don’t do that?”

She shook her head. “Usually it is just You and Me.” There was a long pause. “Because you use descriptions, that is why you each called me something different. Correct?”

“We did? Sorry. We’ll stop if you want...”

Their behavior was largely unconscious; they’d never dealt with a sawk before and for the most part they expected her to behave just like a smaller, bluer throh. She adjusted her sling, cleared her throat. “It is fine. I can understand ‘Blue’ and ‘Skinny’, but I do not understand ‘Tiptoes’.”

“You were really quiet on your feet last night,” said Scratch, smiling gently. He reached out to touch her hand. “You know, before you fell over.”

Her own expression was tight-lipped, humorless. It quashed down Scratch’s smile like two tons of pressure. He withdrew his hand.

“It has been difficult,” was all she said.

 

\------

 

Throh had no material items that needed to be packed- when it was time to move on they just gathered up their clan and marched across the plains, stopping occasionally to eat or throw rocks at each other.

For Scratch’s clan things were no different. They buried the remains of the fish, to deter dangerous scavengers, and turned their heads eastward towards the center of the valley.

“Following the river would be easiest,” Scratch said, picking up Small and setting him on his shoulders. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he looked towards the sun. “Keep an eye out for swanna, they get territorial this time of year.”

“I’ll watch the right,” Lefty said, trotting away from the group. If anyone tried to ambush them from land, they’d run into her first.

They were about to set off, but stopped when the realized the sawk was still sitting where they’d left her. Her back was to them and her head was down.

“Tiptoes?” Scratch asked, gently. He glanced at Jaw, who shrugged. “I think its best if you stay with us.”

She shook her head. “Thank you for your help,” she said, painfully getting up, “but I will remain here.”

Jaw snorted. “You’re gonna die on your own, its a fact. How are you even gonna protect yourself?”

“I know its strange,” Scratch said gently, “it’s weird for us too. But you don’t have to do anything. Just walk with us. Not a whole lot of pokemon go after a clan of throh. You’ll be safe.”

The sawk still hadn’t turned to look at them. “There would be no point.”

“Well… maybe you’ll find a point on the way?” Scratch tried. He looked over his shoulder, saw that Lefty and Thump were already following the river, and Jaw was heading after them. He glanced back at the injured sawk. “Its your choice.” He said, turning to follow his clan. “Good luck, Tiptoes.”

“Bye, Blue Throh,” Small said from Scratch’s shoulders, waving.

The sawk turned and watched them leave.

 

\------

 

The river meandered like an ekans after a large meal. It was shallow and wide for the most part, but occasionally cut deep and dark, where nocturnal water types could be seen hiding from the midday sun. A golduck on the shore spotted the passing clan and slipped silently from the bank. Its psyduck companions remained, confused.

Life flocked to this river in sometimes desperate ways. In the coming months herds of bouffalant would arrive to drink it dry, while the sun took what little was left until only a trickle remained. The local water types were adapted to these hardships. Wooper formed water-retaining cocoons in the mud where they could sleep out the heat, while most of the fish and the birds migrated to greener, wetter pastures in the west. Jellicent could go for months without so much as a drop, drying up like plastic bags and rehydrating with the rain. Magikarp did none of these things. They seemed content to cram themselves into any puddle that remained, like remoraid in a square tin. It was only when they were ready to evolve that they swam downstream to join the ocean.

Truthfully, it was the land-dwellers that were hit the hardest. No water meant no plants, and no plants meant no prey. This was only made worse by the imminent dust storms and wildfires that shook the parched ecosystem to its roots. The dry season was nature’s way of tearing down its old foundations, eliminating the weak so that the strong could cling to life. It was a time of loss but also of renewal- and it would be there soon.

For now, the river was still flowing, the plants were still growing, and the bug pokemon were still hovering over the water. Scratch raised a hand above his eyes and glanced up. The sun had just begun its downward path. “Good thing its only a few miles to the forest,” he said.

A massive boulder struck the ground just a few feet away. He frowned at it for a few seconds, then looked back over his shoulder wearing the same expression.

Thump flexed a red bicep, grinning. “30 meters!”

“ _Liar!_ ” Jaw snarled. He ran to the nearest rock and ripped it free from the earth. “You’re exaggerating, let me show you what a 30 meter toss really looks like!”

Scratch groaned and continued on just as a second boulder flew past his head. The impact caused the river to tremble. “Might need a rain check on the forest idea,” Lefty said, joining him. Cackling and cursing could be heard behind them.

“Those boulders are pretty tempting.” Scratch admitted. For a while they walked in silence, broken only by the sound of massive rocks being thrown and threats being made. Small was asleep on Scratch’s shoulders and drooling on his head.

“How’s our friend doing?” Scratch eventually asked.

Lefty looked back. A single blue figure was following them from about half a mile away, nearly a mirage in the heat. “She’s still there. I wish she’d just join us.”

Scratch sighed. “They’re just different than us. They like being in pairs, not groups.”

“That gets me wondering why she doesn’t have a partner looking after her-”

Lefty stuck out her hand suddenly, motioning for him to stop. Thump and Jaw were still arguing behind them. She flicked her head towards a point in the distance, and Scratch could just see a brief glint of metal, some rustling bushes on the edge of a field. He checked the river; it was just shallow enough for them to cross.

“This way,” he said, just loud enough to be heard by the group.

They made their way down the bank, Jaw and Thump jogging to catch up. “What’d you see?” Thump asked.

“Pawniards.” Scratch glanced back towards the bushes, but there was no more movement to be seen. “Scouting for their queen.”

Pawniards always traveled in large groups led by a female bisharp called a queen. They were violent carnivores, seeking out large prey that they could all overpower at once while their leader struck the finishing blow. In large enough numbers they were deadly, even to a clan of throh.

Scratch poked the sleeping baby clinging to his neck. “Wake up Small. I need you to hold on tight, ok?” He gestured for his clan to follow as he stepped out into the river.

There was only enough room for them to walk with their shoulders dry, and the magikarp circling curiously at their legs did nothing to ease the tension. They were halfway across when Scratch spotted more of the helmeted dark-types, congregating behind them and openly watching.

“Almost there,” Lefty anxiously said.

The riverbed began to slope upwards, and the clan hurried to shore. The bank was very steep on this side, but a hanging tree root provided an easy handhold. Scratch reached for it, pulled himself up, braced an arm against the top of the bank and swung a leg over.

It took his mind a second to register that he was looking at at least a hundred pawniards. In the middle stood their queen.

He shouted and toppled just as one sprang at him. The fall was clumsy, hitting Thump in the process and flipping him over on his back. Small screamed and fell from his shoulder. The pawniards spilled down from the bank in waves while the bisharp stared down with pin-prick pupils. Jaw grabbed one and flung it hard into the river, but three more took its place, standing aside when the bisharp leapt easily down to the shore.

They were surrounded, their backs to the water with a semi-circle of hungry pawniards closing in. An ambush.

Scratch was breathing heavily. He glanced at his clan, saw their wide-eyed faces, a mixture of anger and fear. They were in battle stances. Small was clinging to his leg, trembling. Thump gave a warning bellow and swung a fist; a few pawniards scattered but were quickly replaced. All the while the bisharp watched, stoic. Waiting for the pawniards to weaken the clan so she could dispatch them one by one.

“ _GO AWAY!_ ” Scratch roared. He used Bulk Up, less in preparation and more as a threat. The dark types observed but didn’t flee. Their vast numbers and the presence of their queen made them brave.

The pawniards rushed suddenly from the side, enveloping Lefty while she punched and shrieked. Chaos ensued. Scratch struck and snarled, but the close proximity to the other throh prevented him from using any real moves. Instead he swung his fists, delivering some crippling punches that were mere drops in the bucket in comparison to the sheer mass of pokemon. A pawniard lept at his face with Fury Cutter, forcing him to fall back with a roar. He swatted it off, looked down and saw Small fearfully tugging on his pants leg.

He picked the child up and held him above the fray with both hands, wincing as he felt barbs stab into his stomach and sides. There was no time to calculate, no time to look behind him. “ _Run,_ ” Scratch told Small, and flung him towards the opposite shore.

There was only one way to scare off a pawniard horde, and that was by defeating their queen. Scratch worked his way through the swarm with his fists, smashing pokemon left and right as they stabbed at him and drew blood. The bisharp slowly raised it cuffs, blades expanding with a flick of the wrists. Nonchalant.

Lefty tore in from the side, covered head to toe in clinging pawniards. Her fist collided with the bisharp’ head and it stumbled, shocked but still standing. “Kill it!” Lefty yelled. Scratch charged and tackled it to the ground, one arm pinning its wrist while the other punched. The bisharp shrieked and flailed its free arm, connecting with Scratch’s shoulder in a spray of blood. Its legs kicked. Scratch grabbed its head crest and twisted, straining its neck, one white eye bulging furiously at him. It writhed like a grounded fish.

Scratch looked quickly over his shoulder, past Jaw swinging a pawniard by its arm. He thought he couldn’t be more frightened; he was wrong. Small was desperately trying to climb the opposite bank but kept slipping in the mud. He didn’t notice the three pawniards pacing above him, contemplating their attack.

“ _Small!_ ” Scratch screamed.

The bisharp thrashed violently beneath him and he was forced to look away. With a roar he drew back his arms and slammed them into its head, over and over again, in spite of its now-free blades digging into his chest. Its helmet cracked loudly and it shrieked, drawing back its legs to fling off the attacking throh.

Scratch landed with his head in the water, jerked and gasped as he forced himself to his feet. He watched as the bisharp leapt to the upper bank, head tilted at a severe angle, moaning. The pawniards froze and stared after it.

“Go,” Scratch growled, chest heaving. “Leave us!”  
The bisharp gave a sharp, barking cry- a retreat signal. It half-ran half-stumbled away. The pawniards scrambled up the bank after it like frightened children, chattering and holding their wounds, some screeching curses at the throh. They vanished quickly into the brush. Scratch panted, looked back to the opposite bank. His heart skipped. Small was gone.

“Small?” he croaked.

In a daze he stepped into the river, dimly aware of his own injuries, of the sound of his clan calling to him from behind. What would he find on the opposite bank- did he even want to know? A tiny, half-eaten body, or a shapeless stain? There was a figure approaching from downstream, barely registered. He turned towards it shakily. It was the sawk, with Small in her arms. He was clinging to her shirt.

Scratch’s mind went blank. All he could manage to say was “How… did you get here so fast?”

“My legs still work,” she said dryly. With her functioning arm she propped Small against her shoulder. The child buried his face there, sniffling. “I think this belongs to you.”

He could have kissed her.

 

\------

 

Perhaps it was adrenaline that held back the pain until he knew everyone else was safe. Regardless, Scratch was feeling his wounds now, a stabbing sensation in his gut and numerous small cuts along his back and arms. No doubt he had a few bruises to show off as well. Lefty was covered head to toe in small wounds, a result of the clinging pawniards, but none of them deep enough to be serious. Jaw had broken a finger and Thump had a bleeding gouge on her scalp.

“What’s with you and head injuries?” Lefty asked, pouring some river water on the wound with her cupped hands. The large female snorted.

“Damned if I know.”

“Its because she has a head like a coconut,” Jaw said. “She just seems to hurt it more because they never run deep enough to kill her.”

“Hey!” Thump snapped. Lefty giggled.

It was a miracle they weren’t seriously harmed.

The ambush had been clever, but poorly executed. This led the clan to hypothesize that the leading bisharp was young and inexperienced; full of ideas but lacking on the follow-through. No doubt the swarm were in for several hungry nights as her head healed, if they chose to stick around that long. There were always more queens looking for followers.

Smallest Throh was covered in mud, and was sore from being thrown, but was otherwise fine. He sat naked in the shallows while Scratch gave him a quick bath. “How are you doing, Small?” Scratch asked.

He raised a tiny foot. “I have a cut,” he said. Scratch chuckled.

“Its just a little one. You’ll be ok.”

“Blue Throh is very fast,” Small said.

Scratch looked up. The sawk was sitting in the shade of a tree, watching at a distance. Her expression was unreadable. If it wasn’t for her quick feet, Small would be dead. Scratch couldn’t thank her enough.

“What now?” Jaw asked, wrapping his finger with some reeds. A stick served as a makeshift splint.

“Well, I doubt you’ll be throwing rocks anytime soon,” Thump said.

Jaw bristled. “Aw, dang!”

Lefty finished wrapping Thump’s head and stood. “We can still make it to the forest,” she suggested. “The last thing we need is a run in with those cacturnes you mentioned before.”

Scratch wrung out Small’s gi and nodded. “Its not too far.” He glanced over at the horizon, where storm clouds were beginning to roll in from over the mountains. It would be a few hours before it hit- most likely the last rain of the season, and looking to be intense. “Might wanna make it quick, though. Will you come with us, Tiptoes?”

The sawk slowly stood, adjusting her sling. She nodded. “For now,” Tiptoes said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. PART 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: kidnapping, infanticide

_ _

 

 _“_ _Marianne from Slateport Writes:_

_Dear Fighting Guru. I am the owner and trainer of an adult sawk and hoping to compete in the Battle Frontier. My question is a behavioral one. I noticed that my sawk refuses to leave my side whenever I release him from his ball. Its reaching the point where I can’t even leave him at daycare or my home without him breaking out and finding me! On the rare event that I can leave him with a friend, his separation anxiety is so intense that he destroys their house and won’t stop yelling! What can I do to combat this problem?_

**_Dear Marianne,_ **

**_It sounds like your sawk is suffering from an issue that is unfortunately common in his species. We all know that throh prefer to be kept in groups, but very few people are aware that sawk have a similar requirement. In the wild, sawk are usually observed in pairs. A lone sawk will always seek out a companion for security and comfort. Its likely your sawk has come to see you as his partner and doesn’t understand why you want to be away from him. While this might mean you have a very close bond, its understandably very annoying to deal with when you’re not in battle! I would suggest finding him a friend, ideally another sawk. If you can’t afford to travel to Unova to catch your own consider ordering one from a professional trapper. Being in the presence of his own kind will calm him, and you can then get back to your life without having to keep him in a ball all day. Good luck!”_ **

**_-_ _Q and A from The Battle Guru, issue 28_ **

 

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The clan was understandably anxious about hitting the road so soon. Most of them still had blood drying on their clothes, but the sound of fighting was like a magnet for aggressive scavenger types, and they knew it would be in their best interest to move on as quickly as possible. The threat of the oncoming storm wasn’t helping, though.

Jaw claimed he knew a shortcut that led to somewhere high and dry. “Used to live up here, with my old clan,” He gestured furiously for them to follow. “There’s this path that reconnects with the river on the other side. Trust me, we follow it and the forest’ll be just a hoppip’s jump away!”

“The last time you said that we wound up in a beedrill hive,” Lefty reminded him. Her head was just beginning to scab up into a way that looked worse than it actually was.

Jaw crossed his arms. “Ah, yes, but I distinctly remember we got to feast on their delicious honey afterwards.”

Thump’s brow furrowed. “Beedrill don’t make honey.”

“Well, we feasted on something. What do you say Scratch? You’re on my side, right?”

Scratch looked up from where he was wrestling a fussy Small into his gi. “What was that about beedrill?”

Jaw looked over at Tiptoes. “Sawk? You in?”

The sawk was re-wrapping her injured arm and didn’t respond. Her eyes were distant and fixed on the far horizon, towards the swirling clouds. Jaw frowned.

“Well. Lets say its settled then. Follow me, my eager duckletts…”

At a distance it looked like the stocky throh was leading his clan on a particularly asinine scavenger hunt. He turned back twice, tripped once, and cursed a record breaking eight times in succession before he found his confidence and led them down a narrow path through a field created by the traffic of pokemon. What the valley lacked in plantlife it made up for in elaborate canyon systems, and it was not unusual to stumble upon a ravine that had never been noticed before. Thus was the case for the clan and their wayward sawk.

“My old clan used to travel these canyons for miles,” Jaw said fondly, pushing some brittle vines aside. “They’re great for getting around when you don’t want to be followed by pokemon that are… ehh…”

Thump grinned. “Finish that thought?”

“Taller than you,” he scowled.

He brushed aside the dying plants to reveal a dark canyon. Its circular shape suggested that it might have been dug by steelix, long ago. “After you,” he said to the clan. There was hesitation all around; throh didn’t typically traverse tight spaces, preferring open sky and flat earth. The distant howl of an approaching flock of gliscor was as good a reason to move as any, through, and the clan filed inside. Tiptoes was the last one to make it in, almost as an afterthought.

“You too, sawk.” Jaw muttered. "You made it this far.”

The sawk fixed him with a stare that might’ve actually been Leer before stepping inside.

The canyon was little more than an unstable, rocky tube with dead plants hanging down from its top, but Jaw seemed confident in his direction and for the clan that was enough. It was dusty and dark, cool save for the narrow strip of sun lighting their way. Scratch had to hunch awkwardly to fit, and as a result Small couldn’t ride on his shoulders.

“This stinks!” Small announced. He was carried like a sack of potatoes under Scratch’s thick arm.

Thump gasped in mock outrage. “Such language! I can’t imagine where he gets it from, _Jaw._ ”

“Hey, kids idolize me, alright? I didn’t ask to be born with this sorta charisma. Now my older brother- you wanna talk charm? _There’s_ a guy that can charm the hood off an arbok.”

Scratch frowned. “Didn’t he lose a finger trying to feed a patrat?”

“Eeh. It’s more of an art than a science.”

Lefty was lingering towards the back of the procession, near their allied sawk. Tiptoes showed little interest in their banter and largely stared at the floor. She seemed depressed, in fact, maybe unused to traveling with strangers- but Lefty knew that a stranger was only a stranger until you got to know them better, so in her typical goodnatured fashion she asked “Do you have any family, Tiptoes?”

Lefty nearly bumped into her as she froze mid-walk.

Thump chuckled from the front of the group. “Lefty, sawk don’t do families. They just train all day so they can fight each other, right, Tiptoes?”

“We form partnerships,” Tiptoes tucked both arms into her sleeves. Her voice was soft, had somewhat of a shake to it. “We do not travel in groups, or keep track of families. If more than two sawk are in one place it means they are going to fight. To be honest, you are all very strange for trusting each other so much.”

Thump chuckled a bit at that. “But you trust us, right? I mean, why else would you be here?”

The corners of Tiptoes’ mouth twitched. “I am not unfamiliar with the idea. Sawk are capable of trusting each other very much. I just do not believe in it except in rare cases, and I think if you meant to harm me you would have done it by now.”

“Your kind must have a weird definition of trust,” Thump muttered, elbowing Jaw. He snickered loudly.

“Lay off her.” Scratch was taken aback. “She saved Small’s life. She doesn’t have to explain herself to you.”

“Relax Scratch, we’re just hazing a little!” Thump idly kicked a stone as they walked, glanced back over her shoulder when she lost it. “Through it must be a pretty lonesome life, spending all your time by yourself or with a single member of your own kind. I mean, some throh are loners, but they aren’t really the norm. We just weren’t made to be alone.”

Lefty nodded, eager to change the subject. “How can a throh get along without a clan to help? It’s just strange. I mean, my first clan wasn’t anything to brag about, just me and two others, but...”

“I did not realize throh could change clans.”

Scratch shrugged, adjusting a squirmy Small under his arm. “Most end up switching at least once, or leaving theirs to start their own. The clan just gets too big, or the kids all grow up and leave…”

“Small will never leave!” Thump yelled, yanking the child away from Scratch. “I won’t let you.” She kissed his bald little head. “I’d miss you too much.”

“I don’t want to leave!” Small piped up, trying to kick free of her iron grip. Scratch shrugged.

“You say that now, but just wait until you’re all grown up and we’re old and embarrassing. You’ll find some throh your own age and start your own clan. Its nothing to be afraid about--”

The ground trembled suddenly, dust falling from above in a massive puff. The clan halted. “Who else felt that?” Thump asked, nearly a command.

The tunnel before them appeared to branch off in multiple directions, most leading to darkness while one seemed to be as an exit. It glowed invitingly. “This way,” Jaw said, beckoning them towards the leftmost passage, which was ink black and lined with hanging vines. Thump coughed indiscreetly, glanced over at the exit nearby.

“You sure about that, Jaw?”

“Positive.” His voice had an edge of urgency to it.

“I think time scrambled your brain, Jaw. That way looks spooky as heck.”

Jaw groaned, frustrated. “I lived here for years, lady. I know this place like a sableye knows his gems and once the ground starts shaking this shortcut is not one you wanna linger in.” A second tremor shook the cave, dirt falling in clumps from its ceiling and breaking on their heads. Pebbles rattled on the ground. Outside there were voices, hundreds of them, distant but getting closer.

Scratch grabbed Jaw’s shoulder, lips drawn back in a snarl. The scarred throh was never scarier than when he sensed danger. “What’s happening?” He demanded. Jaw winced, looked away.

“This tunnel might… be a diglett’s den, at night,” he said sheepishly.

“ _Jaw!_ ”

“At night, Scratch! The storm’s probably scared them in early or something!”

The passage shook around them like low thunder. From the glow of the exit a cloud of dirt and sand blew in, several voices yapping somewhere outside. “Dig? Let? Dig? Let?”

“Come on!” Jaw yelled, shrugging free and running down the dark passage. “They won’t follow us this way! The parasect’ll scare them off!”

“ _Parasect_ , Jaw?!”

They bolted down the tunnel just as heads began shooting up from the dirt floor. “Dig? Dig? Dig!” They yapped, jostling against one another. They were unintelligent, hive-minded beings, their behavior as enigmatic as what lied below them in the dirt. Pokemon trapped in a diglett storm had been known to be crushed to death against the sheer volume of the creatures packing into small spaces. On their own they were hilariously weak, but when they gathered in the thousands...

“Come on come on come on!” Jaw snapped, nearly slipping on the damp moss floor. The passage was winding and jagged, with no clear exit in sight.

“How could you lead us into a diglett den?” Thump shrieked from somewhere behind him. She was shoving Small into her gi to protect him.

Jaw flinched. “Its-- its not a diglett den during the day! Look, just keep up and we’ll be fine!”

They turned a sharp corner. The steelix-dug canyon was now less of a canyon and more of a cavern; tunnels branched out in all directions, where milky-eyed paras and parasect crouched among pillows of moss. At the sight of the clan they screeched and scrambled to their feet. Normally scavengers, the bug types were infamously opportunistic feeders capable overwhelming prey as large as mamoswine with their spores. Jaw punted one aside and pointed urgently at a small passage to daylight. “Last stop, I promise!”

“You owe us for this!” Scratch snarled.

“Yeah. I figured.”

Gold and purple dust erupted from the backs of the swarm- a mix of Stun Spore and Poison Powder. It had no effect on the cave dwellers themselves. Scratch shoved his clan through the exit, threw an arm over his mouth to block the fumes. His eyes watered, each breath like two lungfuls of fire. In an attack like this all one could do was count the seconds before it became overwhelming. Through the haze he saw Tiptoes kick her way through, hand slapped over her mouth and eyes, disoriented. He grabbed her by the collar and they fled. The exit was just a brisk and terrified run away, and the clan toppled out like a stack of dominoes, a stray paras clinging to the back of Jaw’s pant leg. He kicked it off with a snarl. It fled squealing back into the darkness- the sensation of light was too overwhelming for the bug type’s eyes.

Scratch immediately surveyed the clan. They seemed alright, out of breath and sneezing, but under no life-threatening effect of the spores. Small was luckily safe, his face pressed to Thump’s gi through the ordeal, through Thump herself was wet eyed and wheezing for breath. Tiptoes had clearly gotten the short end of the stick. She rubbed her eyes furiously with her free hand, made a sound like she was hacking up her own windpipe. Her face was soaked with tears. Stun Spore alone could knock out a pokemon in a matter of seconds- when combined with Poison Powder it had the potential to collapse the diaphragm, causing asphyxiation. It was remarkable she was still standing.

“Well,” Jaw said after a while, panting. He grinned shakily and pointed at the cave. “At least we got away from those paras. There wasn’t _mush-room_ in that cave, am I right--”

Tiptoes’ leg shot out suddenly, tripping him. He hollered, fell hard on his face. In an instant the clan was up. Tiptoes stood over the short throh, breathing heavily. Her hand was curled into a tight fist, eyes tomato-soup red and leaking. Her attack was brief, and the clan couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. “Ouch!” Thump bit back a laugh.

Jaw was not one to suffer an insult without revenge. Heckling was one thing, but those who thought they could get away with humiliating him usually regretted it for the rest of their lives. But lying there on the ground, surrounded by his watery-eyed and sneezing clan, Jaw realized that smashing the sawk’s face in would most likely be a severe error. The clan was grateful that she’d saved Small, and he could admit he was in the wrong, leading them into a diglett nest after just barely surviving a pawniard swarm. Not to mention that he had the gut feeling that even without the use of one arm she would be challenging to beat.

So he laughed instead. Too loud to be sincere, but diffusing enough. “Does this make us even, sawk?”

Tiptoes’ eyes went from his face, to those of the rest of the clan. There was a tense beat. She sniffed, wiped her mouth on her sleeve. The sky was already grey. A few scattered raindrops puttered around them.

“I think that’s a yes,” Lefty whispered to him as the sawk turned and walked away.

 

\------

 

The sky was the color of packed cement. Rain fell fast and hard, angled by the occasional gust of wind and lit by strokes of lightning. The water types in the valley loved it; psyduck waddled and foraged in the soaked fields, and the fish jumped and snapped, mistaking droplets for prey.

The throh, however, did not love it. They sat in a sad circle just inside the forest, hunched together and soaked to the bone. No one spoke. Instead they all watched Tiptoes, who was at work constructing some sort of shelter. With her free hand she pulled a leafy branch taunt between two trees, braced herself with a foot and tied it with a vine. She did this several times until the branches formed a small dark canopy that blocked the rain. She shook herself like a dog and stepped inside, glanced back. The throh were staring after her in silence. They were still red-eyed and tense from their escape just an hour before.

“You may come in,” she said softly.

Permission granted, the throh slowly got up and squeezed in under the makeshift roof. Knees were bent and heads were ducked, but they made it work. “Thank you,” said Lefty.

Whether night had truly fallen was not clear, but the sky was now dark as coal, and thunder continued boiling in the distance. Even the water types had retreated to the river, sitting with just their faces above the surface, light-eyed and observing.

“I’m cold,” Small sniffed. Thump opened the front of her gi and tucked him against her chest, tied it back up so only his head stuck out. She didn’t seem to mind having a small, wet body pressed against hers.

“There you go. Now go to sleep, Smallest.”

Jaw leaned against Thump and yawned. For all their complaining, the clan was very forgiving of its member’s mistakes, and acted as if it wasn’t his fault their sinuses still felt like they were bleeding. Jaw reached out and rubbed Small on the head; he was already dozing off, and so was Thump, by the looks of it. The sawk observed from the back of the shelter, draped in shadow. “Are you his parents?” She eventually asked.

Thump groaned, sleepy. “Its rude to ask.”

“Why is that?”

“It just isn’t important,” Scratch explained, ringing out the corner of his gi. He was watching the river carefully. “Who you choose to be with says more than who you were born to. We don’t have leaders or parents, just clanmates. Its our way.”

Tiptoes looked perplexed at this. She scooted closer but was still mostly a dark shape in the corner of the simple shelter. “I do not see why it would be a problem. Is he is going to play favorites just for finding out?”

“What exactly would you suggest?” Jaw hissed, sarcastic. He was little more than a flash of sparse teeth in the dark. “Wake him up and tell him? This is how we do things in the clan. If you wanna stick with us then accept it.”

“Jaw,” Lefty said, touching his arm- her way of telling him he’d gone too far.

Tiptoes paused, calculating. “...I apologize. I did not mean to cause offense.”

Her words were monotone, through, and her eyes had that hard edge that Jaw was really sick of seeing. So he snorted, and rolled his eyes. “Just- forget it, sawk. It doesn’t matter. Oh, and thanks for the rearing advice. Spoken like someone truly childless.”

“My child died.”

There was shocked silence.

“ _Oh,_ ” Jaw flushed. “I… uh. Sorry.”

She looked him in the eyes, just barely visible in the shadow, then out at the rain.  “How could you know?” she asked quietly. “Besides, it was only an egg.”

Lefty touched her shoulder lightly, a show of solidarity. “When did this happen?” Her tone was gentle.

Somehow they all knew the answer before she’d said it. “Three days ago.”

It was like all the air had left the shelter. Lefty swallowed. “So, is that why you’re all…” she gestured vaguely at the sawk, bruised and beaten with her arm in a sling.

Tiptoes nodded.

“We tried to stop it. It was not enough.” She shifted a little, unable to meet their gaze. The four throh were all watching her with the same look, shock mixed with… pity? She rubbed her injured arm, sighed. Reached into her gi and pulled out the small blue object they’d seen the previous evening. It shimmered dully in her palm. Its significance was suddenly and devastatingly obvious.

“An eggshell.” Lefty whispered.

“I just wanted to have something. To prove it was real.” Tiptoes looked outside at the rain. Her voice was a drone, like she was reciting what happened to someone else, and not her own personal tragedy. “It belonged to me and my partner. We just thought it would be fun to… train a little sawk. We were both the strongest in our territory, and figured that any offspring of ours would be unbeatable, maybe even the greatest fighter there ever was.” She hesitated. “But there was a trainer, with a conkeldurr. Too strong for us to beat. I do not know what they wanted with us… but it killed my partner. I tried to fight it, and that made it angry, so it...” she gestured and trailed off, wiping her face with her sleeve. “It should have been me,” she finished.

Scratch was now seated with his back to the field, expressionless. Carefully, he reached out and took the eggshell from the sawk’s hand. She didn’t react. He pulled a small vine from the side of the tree and started to weave, with more artfulness and dexterity than might be expected. “It’s not the same,” he said quietly, “but I had a brother, once. We were a handful. I still don’t know how my clan was able to control us both. Always getting into trouble. One day, we ran off to chase some pidoves, and there were trainers, waiting for us.”

Tiptoes glanced up suddenly. “What happened?”

Scratch’s eyes never left his hands, and his voice was little more than a low rumble. “They killed him. They were trying to take him away, it seemed, and were too rough. They wanted me too, but I ran. But not before they gave me this.” He touched his scar absently. “We were very young. I couldn’t even fight yet. But when I think back to that day, I still get angry at myself. I should have fought them. I shouldn’t have left my brother to die. The clan never saw me the same.”

“You would not have stopped them. They would have killed you both.”

Scratch nodded. “But it hasn’t gotten better. I’m still bitter, and furious, and sad.” He rubbed his eyes, tired. “And even after all that… I just can’t understand _why._ Why’d they try to take him away? For what reason?”

“Its not always kids, even,” Lefty added. “My first clan lost an adult. It’s like they just wanted to grab whoever they could. She didn’t die... but we never saw her again, either.”

The rain died down somewhat, tapping against the roof of the shelter and forming a grey pool in the field below. The water types were gone. The clan sat in silence for a while.

Then Scratch said, “I know the pain is fresh but… I hope someday you’ll get another chance.”  He reached for Tiptoes’ injured arm and tied something to her wrist. It was the piece of eggshell, held in place by a simple woven vine- now a bracelet. She looked at it, back up at him.

He smiled sadly.


End file.
